


and you could call this the funeral

by emptyskies



Series: what could've been [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Episode: s05e07 Ace Chemicals, M/M, Slight Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 19:04:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17924579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptyskies/pseuds/emptyskies
Summary: It'd been a long time coming and yet it had never been more unexpected.OrThe one where Jeremiah kissed Bruce but it never made much of a difference anyhow.





	and you could call this the funeral

**Author's Note:**

> So fair warning this is kind of shit, I've never written Gotham fanfiction before (none that I've posted anyhow) let alone anything else in quite a while so my skills are more than a little rusty. I just had to get this out as I was struck with inspiration and the idea would not give me a moment's peace.
> 
> Read on if you'd like but there's not much to this. Constructive criticism is welcome, just don't be a dick about it because I cannot say in good faith that I won't be one back.
> 
> Title from R.I.P. 2 My Youth by The Neighborhood.

"You need me." Jeremiah screeched desperately, choking on a sob as he clutched Bruce's thin, pale face so tight his knuckles turned white and it was sure to leave bruises where his fingers dug in. Leave his mark on him and it's all he ever wanted, all he ever cared for but in this moment- possibly the most important of his life- it did nothing to ease the aching weight in his chest. Not when Bruce's words still echoed in his head like a specter, far too similar to the voice that already followed him; hung over him like a nightmare he couldn't shake. _You mean nothing to me_. "I'm the answer to your life's questions." _You failed_.

Shaking, Jeremiah punched him in the gut, and Bruce reeled back; almost curled in on himself against the safety railing that already hung precariously behind him from the first time he'd been so carelessly shoved against it. His hands gripped Bruce's jacket and pulled him close, close enough to smell the expensive cologne he wore- his father's undoubtedly- and underneath it the acrid scent of sweat and salt as he searched Bruce's face miserably for a sign; for any hint of emotion; for _anything._ Bruce's eyes were like ice, not even anger or hate penetrating those sharp features. How- how could this be?

A sharp, throbbing pain plunged into his heart pointedly, filling his insides and every being with something a little like acid. Bruce had to know. " Without me-" Jeremiah took a shuddering breath, overwhelmed by the swirling vortex of emotion inside him for the first time in- in- in _months._ His hands moved of their own accord, once biting but now delicate as he grasped the boy's face and pressed his lips desperately against Bruce's. He drew back and welcomed the sight of Bruce's mouth a smear in red, the look of utter shock on his face as Jeremiah caressed his cheekbone with his thumb. It suited him well, far too well for his own good. His voice was wrecked with emotion, laced heavily with agony and it's unbecoming of him but he has to- He needs Bruce to understand. "Without me you're just a joke-" And the irony of his words is not lost on him. Is his godforsaken existence not, after all, just as meaningless without Bruce in it, without him by his side? "- without a punchline."

Bruce Wayne. Bruce was everything. Everything and anything he'd ever hoped for in a companion and so much more. They would be fantastic, victorious; they could bring the world to its knees. If only he'd just _listen._

Jeremiah took a step forward unblinkingly, though he was already pressed as close to Bruce as he could possibly be without crawling under his skin. And that- that was certainly a thought, to crawl under Bruce's skin where he could not hide any longer. Where he and his beloved Bruce were one and the same. He reached for Bruce again, and it felt almost like time itself had slowed- and what a preposterous idea _that_ was- as Bruce sidestepped him posthaste, their lips barely brushing together as Jeremiah stumbled, caught off guard as he slammed against the railing and fell over the edge. He gazed up, and Bruce was staring back, his breathing ragged and harsh and his dark eyes wide with a loathsome mix of hurt and revelation and- and-

"Bruce-" And he almost couldn't recognise his own voice, small and frightened and _distraught_ in a way he'd never been before; arms outstretched for help that would never come, for the one he'd ever truly felt connected to. For the one who had stolen him wholly.

Falling, falling, falling.

Scorched his skin, seared every thought he'd ever had and every memory he'd immured over these endless years. Behind his burning eyelids, Bruce's face appeared like a blessed vision. A broken sigh, more like a gasp; nothing to escape but that was how it was left to him lips still forming that name like a prayer.

 

And then there was nothing.


End file.
